


The Lion in the Cage

by Bree-chan (BingeReadingEccentricEditor)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Amnesia, Animal Instincts, Animal Transformation, Baby's First Fanfic, Blood (without gore), Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Demonic Possession, Demons, Dogs, Exorcisms, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff and Angst, HEY YOU, Her little brother is also a bean, Non-Graphic Violence, Nyctophobia, Okay stop...now!, Person reading the tags, Read the story instead, Reader-Insert, Self-Discovery, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, So stop reading them, Some of them are kinda spoiler-y, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Unrequited Love, You little rebel, You read the tags didn't you?, reader has anxiety, reader is a bean, yeah you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BingeReadingEccentricEditor/pseuds/Bree-chan
Summary: I hate that you can't separate the whole work's summary from the first chapter's summary (unless you can and I'm just dumb), so here are them both:Main summary: A young girl who is offered an easy out from the life she despises, soon comes to regret her decision. All that glitters is not gold, it seems, and not everyone can be trusted.Chapter one summary:(In which the author is bad at coming up with summaries, so she jumps on the bandwagon of using dictionary entries about the chapter titles instead).nouna strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially something unpleasant.Rated T for harsh language (But not curse words. Like saying pissed off, crappy, hell and the like), blood and violence (but no gore), and dark themes (abuse, PTSD, anxiety, depression, bullying). I do my best to keep it mostly clean for the kids.
Relationships: Alphys/Undyne (Undertale), Asgore Dreemurr/Toriel, Original Male Character/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	The Lion in the Cage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bitty Hunt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590324) by [Rnd_Injustice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rnd_Injustice/pseuds/Rnd_Injustice). 
  * Inspired by [Cheshire Kitten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565788) by [AriesAscending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriesAscending/pseuds/AriesAscending). 



> Hiya! Bree-chan here! ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ  
> This is my first fanfiction ever. Well, not counting the Sleeping Beauty fanfiction I wrote when I was six. We don’t talk about that...
> 
> Anyway, I started writing this with Dusk-senpai almost three years ago. Since then, I have had many struggles in my personal life, and because I’m not a strong person, fell into a deep depression and couldn’t find the motivation to do much of anything. In three years, I have only managed to complete the first chapter, the rest of the story either fragmented or nonexistent. And I fell out of contact with my good friends, who were very supportive and understanding, which I regret very much. I hope that by posting this, I can find the motivation to either continue or give up for good (this on-and-off way of adding to the story isn’t very fun, lol). 
> 
> With that said, it’s all up to you, Reader-chan! If you tell me that you like my story and you want me to continue, I will find the motivation. If you tell me that it isn’t worth pursuing, I can finally have the dose of reality I need to give up. Either way, I will be better off than before. Your feedback is really important, so don’t pull any punches! I can take it, I swear XD  
> P.S. If you happen to have a trigger, please read the end notes for the trigger warnings. Stay safe, lovelies!

_ “C’mon, Y/n, hurry up!”  _

_ A small boy ran in front of me, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. He appeared to be no older than eight, with sandy-blonde curls and bright blue eyes. The boy reached out a little hand and grabbed my arm, tugging me in the direction of a worn-looking playground. _

_ “C’mon!” he shouted again, impatient. “I’ll race you!” _

_ I grinned wickedly at the challenge. “You’re on.” _

_ I tore my arm free from his grasp and sprinted toward the playground, indignant shouts of “Hey, I didn’t say ‘go’ yet!” fading behind me. I slammed into the slide hands-first, panting heavily. _

_ “The winner!” I declared smugly. _

_ “You rotten sister! You’re supposed to let me win!” He pouted adorably, puffing out his cheeks with a huff. _

_ “You’re just a sore loser, Owen,” I teased. _

_ “You cheated! Owen shouted angrily, a finger pointing at me in accusation. “You started before I said ‘go,’ so now you get a penalty!” _

_ I quirked a brow. “Oh yeah? What penalty?” _

_ “You have to push me on the swings,” he said triumphantly, skipping over to the rusty swing set. _

_ I rolled my eyes and followed him. Owen sat on the left swing, his feet tapping the ground in anticipation. I smiled fondly at his childishness and laid a hand on his back, pushing him gently. _

_ “Higher!” Owen insisted. _

_ I complied, shoving him hard with both hands and listening to the resulting squeals of delight. We stayed like that for a while, Owen swinging forward and back, forward and back. Then he suddenly turned his head to look at me, a strange, unidentifiable expression on his face. _

_ “I’m going to jump now, Y/n.” _

_ I stopped pushing, frozen in horror. _

_ “No, you can’t!” I said, my voice wavering with unease. “You’ll fly away forever if you do!” _

_ Owen lowered his feet to the ground, abruptly halting mid-swing. He held a hand out to me, inviting. _

_ “Come with me.” _

_ I stared at the offered hand, so afraid, and so unsure.  _

_ “Please, Y/n,” Owen said softly, holding my gaze captive with his determined stare. “Come with me.” _

_ Hesitantly, I reached out and clasped his hand in mine, moving to sit on the swing next to his. _

_ “Ready? Owen asked. _

_ I nodded. We started swinging, hands still entwined. The metal groaned and shrieked in complaint. Higher and higher we swung, faster and faster until we could go no further. Owen looked me in the eyes. _

_ “Jump, Y/n!” _

_ Simultaneously, we let go. I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting to hit the ground. Moments passed, but the impact never came. Cautiously, I opened my eyes. I gasped. We were flying! Owen and I had risen above the swing set, soaring up over the trees and the buildings which seemed to shrink before my eyes. I felt the cool wind on my skin and in my hair, heard it whistling and whipping around me. _

_ “This is amazing!” I shouted, grinning at him. “I never knew I could feel so free!” _

_ Owen grinned back, his free hand trailing lazily through a cloud. I whooped and threw back my head, drinking in the feeling of the wind on my face. The breeze had picked up, but I paid it no mind as I drifted contentedly in the bright sky, enjoying the peaceful moment with my little brother. _

_ I opened my eyes again and looked down at the world below, watching the ant-sized cars speed along their tiny ant trails. Owen began pointing out all the yellow cars, slapping my arm playfully whenever he found one. The wind was blowing harder now, but I wasn’t too worried. _

_ We soared past neighborhoods and buildings, taking in the sights with wondering eyes. It was so wonderful to be up here with Owen, free and content on a fantastical adventure. I sighed happily, wishing the moment would never end. _

_ An alarmingly strong gust of wind shook me from my thoughts. The previously gentle breeze was now a violent gale, whipping my hair into my eyes with a stinging vengeance. Unable to see, I began to panic. I was unsure if we could survive a storm this high off the ground. We were relentlessly shaken, the wind tossing us around carelessly like we were rag dolls. I felt Owen’s hand begin to slip, and I tightened my hold on his fingers. _

_ “Y/n!” Owen shouted, his eyes wide with fear. “Don’t let me go!” _

_ The wind screeched and wailed, eerily determined to tear us apart. With a scream, Owen was mercilessly wrenched from my grasp. _

_ “OWEN!” I screamed as I began to fall, but my cries of despair were drowned out by the fierce howling of the storm around me. _

_ I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable impact with the ground. It never came. I opened my eyes to see that I was sitting on the edge of a snowy cliff, my legs dangling over the side.  _

_ The view was breathtaking: a beautiful valley stretched out vastly below me, covered with a thick blanket of snow. In the distance, the lights of a city glowed like a million tiny fireflies in the nighttime darkness. _

_ As I kicked my legs over the abyss, unafraid of falling despite the obvious danger, I turned my gaze upward. My breath caught. The shadowy sky above me was overflowing with brilliantly vivid stars, more than I had ever seen in my life— _

_ “pretty, aren’t they?” _

_ I turned my head toward the voice. A figure sat next to me, too blurry to see properly. My eyes strained, trying to make out the details, but the figure became no clearer. I could tell he was male from his voice, but that was the only bit of information I could glean. He seemed so familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him in my mind. I knew him—I was sure of it—but I couldn’t remember who he was. _

_ “Yeah,” I replied, still confused. “I never got to see them like this before. At home, the lights are too bright to see the stars clearly. There are a lot more than I expected, more than I knew even existed.” _

_ I turned my gaze back to the dazzling lights above me. _

_ “I never knew the world could be this beautiful,” I said softly. “Or this big.” _

_ “heh. that's what i thought the first time i saw them.” _

_ “Oh? I said inquiringly, hoping he would elaborate. _

_ “yeah. when we got out, seeing the real stars was the first thing i wanted to do. of course, the sun had just come up, so i had to wait a bit. but i didn’t mind.” _

_ He laid back in the snow, arms behind his head, gazing contentedly at the twinkling display above him. _

_ “it was worth the wait.” _

_ I moved to lie beside him, shivering in the cold and wondering why we were lying in the snow like idiots. _

_ “Aren’t you cold?” I asked. _

_ The figure chuckled. _

_ “no.” _

_ After a moment’s pause, I said, “Me neither.” _

_ Even though I couldn’t see the figure’s face, I could tell he looked skeptical. _

_ “Really, I’m not,” I laughed. “Being here, with you, makes me feel warm.” _

_ A sudden splash of luminescent blue mixed in with the blur that was his face. It was pretty. And weird. The figure pushed himself up into a sitting position and took off his blurry blue jacket, holding it out to me. _

_ “alright, you little charmer, put this on before you catch a cold.” _

_ I winked playfully, taking the jacket and sliding my arms into the sleeves. _

_ “So you think I’m charming?” _

_ He sighed in mock exasperation. _

_ “you’re something, all right.” _

_ “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked indignantly. _

_ The figure didn’t answer, and I could tell he was grinning smugly. I lightly punched his arm in mock anger, and he laughed. Then I laid beside him again, and we fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company. After a few minutes had passed, a thought occurred to me. _

  
  
  
  
  


_ “Why do you like the stars, S̵̷̴̡̨᷂̙̠̼͓̺̗̳͇̻̜͈̱᷂̹̠̗̼͔ͫ͋̒ͣ̔᷁᷀̿̋᷈̋̎ͦ̍̊͌̐͆̉᷾ͬ́ͪͦ̿̆̄͊͘͢͜͜͏̷̶̡͇̪͕͉̜̮̼͓͙̙͉̰̪̜̜̜̗̯͈͕̠͈͉̀̎̌̍᷀̅᷇̓ͫ̀̿̈́ͯ̆̿̋ͥ̐ͯ͂ͩ̂͊ͨ᷈̏̍̃ͮ͐͑̎̕̚̚̚͟͜͝͝͏̰͓͠a̵̵̴̸̷̸̡̢̢̛̛̼̙͓̥̝͚̘̹͔̻͙͙̥̻᷊͖̗̹̖̳̝̘̰̖͇̘͎͙̜̳̤͔͕̗̬̟̣̎̽̏̄̋ͥ̒̂ͤͪ̇ͨ᷅͗̈́̂̃ͮ̐̔ͯͩ̐᷉̋̓̇͆ͥͬ͒̑͒͐̇͒͑᷅̑᷀̓͆̓̈́᷃̿̔̏͛̑᷁ͩ᷈᷄̂ͧͨͤ͋̍̃̐̂᷆̋͂̒̌̆͋̕̚͘͘͟͜͜͞͡ņ̥᷿̰̼̳᷂᷿̖͂ͦ̓ͪ̎᷆ͫ᷄̆̋ͤ͢͜͞͏̵̷̴̷̴̡̙᷂͙̗̲̲̭᷿̦̤̲̯̯̯̘̭͔̣̻̥̜̹̞̻̰̦̱͖͉̖̤ͫ͑᷇̿ͤ᷈᷅̒͐ͧ̒̾᷇ͤͦͣ̀̏͋̄ͬ᷉̅ͯ́ͤ᷅ͨͮ͗̈̏ͮ́̒̽ͫ̋᷅̔̏̈́̊᷉̔̓͋͊̾̾ͩͧͯ́̀᷁ͤ̾ͥ̚̕͢͟͠ͅͅs̴̷̢̙̬̘̮͉̹̻ͪͯ͌͛᷉᷃ͣ̓̂᷈̀͐ͪͮ̽͡͏̶̸̵̶̵̨̧̧̡̡̛͈̫̯̟̲̻̰͚͖͉̘͚̮͎͔̝̱̗͇͚̱̲͎͚͓̝͕͎̪̙͈̙̫̮̞͒᷈̾͑᷅ͦ̓ͫͬͦ͌ͭͬ̅᷾̒͑̑̇͛̌ͬ̐ͮ᷃̇ͮ᷁͂ͯ͋̒᷅̍ͩ̋᷾̍ͯͪ͊̔ͨ̚͘͟͞͠͞͠͞ͅͅͅ?”  _

  
  
  
  
  


_ Huh. Even his name sounded blurred and unrecognizable. “I mean, yeah, they’re pretty, but that can’t be the reason.” _

_ I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I could tell he was smiling fondly when he said, “i’ll tell you when you wake up, kiddo.” _

_ I stared at him, confused. _

_ “What do you—” _

_ I blinked and I was at home in the kitchen, standing at the sink with a glass in my hand. What was I doing again? I stared at the cup. Maybe I was thirsty? _

_ I was reaching forward to turn on the water when I heard soft footsteps padding across the kitchen floor. I felt something tug insistently at my sleeve, and I looked down. Owen was standing beside me in his green dinosaur footie pajamas, his hand clutching my shirt. He stared up at me with wide, fearful eyes. _

_ “Owen, what’s wrong, honey?” I asked, trying to soothe him with my calm voice. _

_ “Mommy’s gonna be mad at me,” he replied shakily. _

_ As if on cue, a heavyset woman stumbled into the room, holding a glass beer bottle. Her shoulder-length brown hair was matted and wild, and her clothes hung off her large frame in disarray. Her dull eyes were unfocused and slightly glazed as she turned to look at us. _

_ “Owen,” Mom cooed as she set the bottle heavily on the counter with a clatter, her voice sickeningly sweet, “come here.” _

_ Hesitantly, Owen let go of my shirt and slowly stepped forward, trembling. He inched his way cautiously across the floor until he was standing directly in front of her. Mom smiled. In a blur of motion, her hand shot out and seized Owen roughly by the hair. _

_ “You ungrateful brat!” she hissed, each word punctuated with a painful jerk of his hair. “I do everything for you, and this is how you repay me?!” _

_ I wasn’t sure why Mom was so mad at Owen, but it didn’t matter. It never mattered. Almost automatically, I opened my mouth to defend him, hoping to either ease Mom’s anger or shift her attention to me. No sound came out. I tried again, fighting my rising panic, but my voice remained silent. _

_ Owen began crying in earnest, his pained sobs echoing off the kitchen walls. Mom viciously shook him, still clenching his hair in her viselike grip.  _

_ “You tried to leave me!” she shouted, her voice betraying a hint of fear. “You can’t leave me again!” _

_ “I’m sorry!” Owen hiccupped. “I won’t do it again!” _

_ Mom looked down at his tearstained face, a dark and malevolent emotion glinting in her eyes. _

_ She started forward suddenly, dragging Owen behind her. She yanked open one of the kitchen drawers, rooting around for something. When Mom spoke, the voice that came out sounded strange and terrifying. _

_ “I’ll make sure you never leave me again.” _

_ Mom found what she was looking for, and she withdrew her hand from the drawer. She was gripping the handle of a wickedly sharp kitchen knife. As my eyes widened in horror, she began to change. The fingers wrapped around the knife became gnarled and grossly elongated. Her arms and legs grew spindly as they extended, the skin pulled taut over her now spider-like limbs. Her spine stretched and bent, contorting at unnatural angles. She glanced at me, and I felt my blood run cold. Mom’s face had split open in a grotesque, demonic grin. It was a smile that exuded a crazed desperation—the manic look of insanity. _

_ I tried to rush forward and save Owen from what I knew was coming. My body wouldn’t move. Panic began washing over me in waves as I stood rooted to the floor. I strained frantically against the unseen barrier that prevented me from moving forward, but I remained frozen. Owen’s eyes widened in fear. _

  
  
  


**_T h e k n i f e_ **

  
  
  


**_c a m e_ **

  
  
  


**_d o w n_ **

  
  
  


_ Owen screamed, his face twisted in an expression of sheer terror as the blade was thrust brutally into his chest. He slumped to the floor, writhing in agony. _

_ I felt my hand go slack, the forgotten glass cup slipping from my grasp. It fell as if in slow motion, tilting slightly as it descended before it finally hit the floor and shattered into a million sharp fragments. I was screaming, but no sound was coming out. _

_ Thick, hot blood flowed from Owen’s side like a river, oozing over the green dinosaurs on his pajamas and drowning them in the horrible red liquid. Owen turned his head to look at me, the light in his eyes seeping away with his lifeblood. _

_ “Y/n,” he rasped. “Help m—” _

_ The knife came down again. I wanted desperately to move, to stop her, but I could only watch in horrified silence as the knife plunged into my little brother’s body again and again. Mom laughed, the sound reverberating chillingly throughout the room as Owen’s blood pooled on the floor. _

_ With a shudder, Owen stopped moving. He was dead. Mom nonchalantly tossed his lifeless body aside, her eyes training on my still frozen form. _

_ “Y/n,” she purred out eerily, the name sounding warped on her tongue. _

_ She slowly advanced on me. I trembled, every fiber of my being screaming at me to run, to escape. I forced my body to move, dragging my feet across the floor in my attempt to flee. I wasn’t going fast enough. _

_ “Don’t worry, sweetie; it’ll all be over soon.” _

_ Closer and closer she came, her spindly fingers twirling the knife still dripping with Owen’s blood. I let out a panicked squeal, struggling in vain to get away, but Mom was right in front of me now. Slowly, she raised the knife, poised to strike. Her monstrous grin widened. _

_ “We’ll be together forever.” _

  
  


I bolted upright on my faded mattress, my skin drenched in a cold sweat. Frantically, my still bleary eyes darted around the dimly lit room, searching for the threat. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; the tiny lamp remained in its usual position next to the mattress, placed haphazardly on a stack of books to make it taller. Beside it on the floor sat my small electronic alarm clock, currently reading 4:48 a.m. Over by the foot of the mattress was the half-open closet door. Owen’s beach towel was casually slung over the top. In the opposite corner stood the small trash can filled with crumpled up pieces of paper and pencil shavings. Plugged into the wall beside it was the extra-bright butterfly nightlight, illuminating the room with it’s soothing glow.

My eyes finally settled on the sleeping form tucked into my side. Owen was curled into a tight little ball under the covers, his arm squashing the official MTT action figure that was both his birthday and Christmas present. He was drooling, and his nose whistled with each breath he took.

I shakily sighed and ran a hand through my little brother’s curls absentmindedly, trying to calm my ragged breathing.

Hazy details of the dream began to flow into my mind as if I were seeing them through frosted glass. I remembered flying . . . falling . . . a man with a blurred face and familiar voice. Even now I was _certain_ that I knew him from somewhere . . .

_ Oh well _ , I thought.  _ Probably just some random guy I saw on the street. _

I could vaguely recall standing in the kitchen. Mom was there, and Owen was too. Owen was crying, and Mom was grabbing a knife and—

I pressed my hands firmly over my ears, trying to block out the phantom screams.

_ Nope. Don’t want to remember that part. _

I focused on Owen’s sleeping face. He looked so small when he was asleep, so innocent and peaceful.

_ Owen’s alive _ , I mentally reassured myself.  _ He’s safe. You won’t let anything hurt him. _

When my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, I glanced at the alarm clock. 4:55 a.m. I sighed. My alarm was scheduled to go off at 5:15, so there was no point to going back to bed now. Not that I could sleep anyway. 

Wearily, I reached over and turned off the now unnecessary alarm. I leaned down to kiss Owen’s forehead, and he murmured incoherently in his sleep. Getting up from the mattress carefully so as not to wake him, I tiptoed over to the closet and grabbed a plain t-shirt and a comfortable pair of shorts. I quietly eased open the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway.

I was enveloped in a darkness cold and thick, almost suffocating in its inky blackness. I felt the familiar fear creep along my spine like a spider, tickling its way up my back and into my lungs. It was hard to breathe. Hands shaking, I fumbled around for the light switch. I couldn’t find it. I felt a lump forming in the back of my throat as panic began to set in.

There was a dark mass at the end of the hallway, seeming to move closer every time I glanced at it. A pair of red eyes glared menacingly at me from the shadows. I could hear the house’s every creak and groan, the footsteps of some terrifying creature crawling across the floorboards, a creature that surely wanted my blood. It was getting closer and closer. I could  _ feel _ it breathing down my neck—

My hand found the light switch and hurriedly turned it on, the grisly scene vanishing back into the dark fantasies of my imagination. My heart was still pounding as I made my way to the kitchen, turning on all the lights as I went.

_ Not real. Not real. Not real. _

I let out a stuttering breath and poured myself a bowl of off-brand Cheerios, lost in my thoughts. My inner voice was criticizing me vehemently as I quietly spooned the cereal into my mouth.

_ Geez, Y/n _ , I mentally berated myself,  _ why are you such a coward? You’re sixteen years old, not a baby! You shouldn’t need a nightlight anymore! _

_ But it’s scary _ , I argued back.

_ It shouldn’t be! You know nothing’s going to get you, but you’re letting your fear take over your life. _

I frowned at the thought.

_ That’s not true— _

_ You nearly had a breakdown in the hallway. _

_ Touché. _

_ You need to grow up! Just face your fear! Go back there and tell that darkness that you’re not afraid! _

_ But— _

_ Do it! _

It was pointless arguing with myself; I always won. After putting my empty bowl in the sink, I took a deep breath and shuffled back over to the hall. My resolve wavered as my hand hovered over the light switch.

“You can do this,” I whispered uneasily. “It’s just darkness.”

I turned off the light, and the shadows washed over me like a wave. I opened my mouth, and the voice that came out was tiny and squeaky.

“I . . . I . . . I’m not . . . af—”

But the darkness was drowning me, and I couldn’t finish my sentence. I turned the light back on, frustrated tears welling up in my eyes. The voice in my head was still scolding me, but I ignored it; I was too busy fighting the urge to cry. 

Blinking back the tears and letting out an anxious sigh, I headed for the bathroom. I moved over to the sink and turned it on, splashing the cool water onto my face. I let the water run down my cheeks and neck, soothing me with the refreshing sensation. I stayed there for a long time.

When I had sufficiently calmed down, I dried my face with a towel and changed my clothes. I examined myself in the mirror. A short, scrawny girl stared back with tired eyes, her slightly too big t-shirt hanging loosely from her tiny frame. The girl fingered the dark circles under her eyes as if the motion could make them disappear. I sighed and moved away from the mirror.

It seemed I was doing a lot of sighing lately.

After numbly going through the motions of my morning hygiene routine, I grabbed my water bottle off the kitchen counter and made my way toward the front entryway. There were a few pairs of shoes—Owen’s and mine—messily jumbled in a pile by the door. I rooted around for a bit before grabbing my pair of worn sneakers. Stuffed into the left shoe was a pair of mismatched socks, a slightly bent (but still usable) house key, and a purple plastic wristwatch.

I put on my shoes and slipped the key into my shorts pocket. While I wrapped the watch around my wrist, I checked the time. 5:47 a.m. That was good; I’d be a few minutes early today. I opened the front door, cringing when it squeaked like nails on a chalkboard. Just another part of our home that had fallen to disrepair.

Giving the door a final disapproving glance, I stepped out into the brisk morning air. The sun had risen only a few minutes before, a fact for which I was extremely grateful. The sky was awash with color, streaks of pink and orange amidst a navy-blue backdrop. The yard itself was an untamed wilderness; the chain-link fence surrounding it was slowly being overtaken by ivy, and the rest of the yard was locked in mortal combat with spiky weeds. The grass was overgrown and speckled with dewdrops.

I smiled admiringly at the morning light reflecting prettily off each tiny bead, creating a dazzling display of a million miniature rainbows on the lawn. Even our dingy, run-down house had its charm, if you knew how to look for it.

I locked the door behind me and walked around to the side of the house, regretfully treading on the shiny droplets. Chained to the fence to prevent theft was my trusty-rusty pink bicycle. It was more rusty than trusty, but it was better than nothing.

I freed the bike from its restraints, looping the chain around my waist so I didn’t have to carry it. Fashionable new belt in place, I wheeled the bike across the yard and onto the concrete sidewalk. I glanced back longingly at the house, wishing I could go back inside and snuggle Owen all day. Forcing myself to turn away, I squared my shoulders and swung my leg over the side of my bike.

“Well, time to go, Y/n.”

  
  


~❤~

  
  


The chilly November breeze nipped at my bare arms and legs as I rode through the streets of the city, listening to the cacophony of car horns and chatter as I pedaled. 

The pace was much faster here than in my tiny, run down neighborhood, everything bigger, brighter, louder. Unlike the dumpy-looking shacks that our neighbors called “houses,” the buildings here seemed almost impossibly tall as they loomed over everything below. The roads were teeming with cars, gaudy paint jobs gleaming in the early morning light. And, despite its cramped appearance, the city teemed with people. Amidst the overcrowded edifices and busy lanes was the hustle and bustle of city-dwellers going about their business.

When I was a kid, I would try to guess who each person was, what they wanted, where they were going. I wanted to connect with them somehow, to see into their dreams and become a part of their world. I made plenty of guesses, but I never asked, and I never found out if I was right. 

In the end, it didn’t matter; I was distracted by the entrancing world around me. The city was fascinating, and it captured my heart instantly with its bedazzling sights and sounds. To child-me, this was a wondrous, magical place that promised excitement, glamour, and bright futures. It was beautiful, and I loved every minute of our visits.

But that was a long time ago.

I focused on reaching my destination, pedaling with renewed purpose. I was getting close. Only two more blocks . . . one more . . . around the corner . . . 

I skidded to a halt, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on my forehead. I had stopped in front of a lavish apartment complex. Comparing this building to our house was about the same as comparing a mansion to a cardboard box. I always felt insignificant when I came here, as if the building itself was looking down on me for my worn clothes and rusted bike.

I dismissed the depressing thought as I dismounted my bike and took a greedy gulp from my rapidly depleting water supply.

“At last,” I panted as I checked my watch. 6:24 a.m. Perfect.

I unwound the snazzy accessory from around my waist and secured my bike to the metal bicycle rack.

I waited.

After a few minutes, the double doors opened and a young woman with a blonde ponytail strolled down the steps. She was dressed eccentrically, wearing a ridiculously fluffy rainbow sweater and donut-print leggings. She carried a large frame covered with a cloth under one arm, and struggled to hold the leashes of two eager dogs, who were tugging hard at their restraints. The woman looked around for a moment before spotting me, and a huge smile lit up her face.

“Y/n! Good morning!” she said cheerily, trotting up to me.

“Hi, Miss Ross,” I replied, showing a small smile of my own.

Miss Ross was a young artist and photographer who had moved to the city looking for inspiration. She came from a wealthy family who encouraged her “little hobby” but didn’t take her work seriously, since most of her paintings featured her dogs, Mr. Woofers and Cody, as the main subjects. 

Mr. Woofers was a sleek, German shepherd with the strength of a bulldozer. Cody, a floppy-eared, one-year-old mutt, was mostly white with brown patches, and he had a large splotch that covered his left eye and ear, as if that side of his face had been dipped in milk chocolate.

As soon as they were close enough, they bowled me over. Mr. Woofers sat on my chest while Cody licked my face like it was a lollipop. Their tails waved like victory banners; they had captured me. While Miss Ross laughed heartily at my predicament, I managed to shove the heavy dog off and stand up, wiping the drool from my face. 

“Ew, gross!” I complained, giving the dogs a stern look.

But it was hard to stay mad at them when they looked so cute. Mr. Woofers started sniffing my shoes, and Cody desperately tried to lick my face again. He reared up in an attempt to reach it, and I winced as his tiny, sharp claws scrabbled at my bare legs.

“Cody, get down,” Miss Ross said firmly before giving me an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. I’ve been working with them about the jumping thing, but we haven’t made much progress.”

“I can see that.”

Miss Ross looked at me in concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just a scratch,” I replied dismissively.

She chuckled. “Well, that too, but you look tired.”

“Oh. I . . . didn’t sleep well last night.” I waved it off. “It’s no big deal.”

Miss Ross hummed in disbelief, but didn’t say anything. That was one of the things I liked most about her; she cared, but never pressed her questions.

Suddenly, Miss Ross clapped her hands together, and I flinched at the noise. 

“Oh! I wanted to show you my latest painting before it goes on exhibit.” She took the frame from under her arm and removed the cloth. “Ta-da! I call it, ‘Wanderer of Lonesome Days.’ ”

I stared at the painting. It was a picture of Cody, unsurprisingly. It was raining, and he was drinking from a puddle on the sidewalk.

“So, what do you think?”

“I like the . . .” I struggled to think of something to say. “. . . rain.”

“So do I! The rain is symbolism for the loneliness of the stray dog, and the despair he feels as he searches endlessly for someone to love him. It’s actually a very deep and intellectual piece,  _ disguised  _ as a simple one.” She grinned proudly. “Aren’t I a genius?”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“They’re going to love it.”

“Keep your fingers crossed. If all goes well”—she gestured between the two of us— “You, me, and Nice Cream celebration!”

“Only if you make it on time.”

Miss Ross glanced down at her watch and hissed in annoyance. “Okay, okay, I’m going. And hey, if you ever need to talk—”

“Thanks. I will.”

She smiled affectionately and ruffled my hair. “You’d better. And now that you’ve been properly warned, I need to go.”

Miss Ross handed me the leashes and the key to her apartment.

“Bye, Y/n! Call me if you need anything!”

And just like that, she was off. I turned to the dogs, who were both looking at me with eager expressions.

“Well, guys, ready to go?”

They simultaneously cocked their heads at my tone, and I giggled.

“Lets go pick up Sandy.”

I gave their leashes a gentle tug, and they fell into rhythm beside me, setting a swift pace. We walked for three more blocks before we came to another apartment building, not quite as luxurious as the first.

I ascended a flight of stairs, leading the dogs down a hallway until we came to the right room. I raised a hand to knock, then paused, looking down at my canine companions.

“Hey, you both better behave,” I warned.

Cody and Mr. Woofers looked up at me innocently, as if to say, “Whatever do you mean, dearest Y/n?”

I fought back a smile and shook a finger at them for emphasis before rapping sharply on the door.

A tiny old woman answered the knock. She was dressed simply, wearing a white, floral-print sweater and a flowing maroon skirt. Thin, wispy white hair framed her wrinkled face. Her eyes were mostly unseeing, clouded over like a crystal ball, and she squinted up at me. 

“Can I help you?” she asked softly, her voice wavering slightly.

“Hi, Mrs. Mitchell,” I greeted the woman politely. “It’s Y/n. I’m here for Sandy.”

“Oh, hello there, Y/n. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“I’m all right, dear,” she laughed. “I may be old, but I’m a fighter. I won’t go down easily.”

I smiled. “I believe it.”

There was a short pause.

“What did you need again, dear?”

My smile turned sad at her forgetfulness; it was getting worse.

“I came to pick up Sandy, Ma’am,” I reminded gently.

“Ah, yes. Silly me.” She gestured to the inside. “Why don’t you come on in? You’ll catch a chill.”

I briefly wondered how I could catch a chill in an apartment building.

“Thank you, but I don’t have time,” I kindly turned down the offer. “And anyway, we’ll be getting enough exercise to keep us warm.”

“Going somewhere, dear?”

“I’m walking the dogs today, remember?”

“Ah, yes. Silly me.” She paused. “You’ve come for Sandy, then?”

“Yes,” I said, trying hard to keep exasperated laughter out of my voice.

“Sandy!” Mrs. Mitchell wet her lips and let out a whistle. “C’mere, Sandy!”

A faint jangling could be heard from another room, steadily growing louder as it came closer. A small, cream-colored dog trotted into the room, her identification tags clinking together as she walked. Sandy was a fully grown miniature labradoodle, though her adult size was still rather small, her head not even reaching her owner’s knees.

Mrs. Mitchell had been given Sandy a few years ago after she had lost her husband. Her grandson thought it would be good for her to have something to keep her company, so Sandy was brought into the Mitchell family.

Cody and Mr. Woofers surged forward to greet the new arrival, but I held them back with a firm grip on their leashes. 

“Hey, I said to  _ behave _ !” I scolded.

They looked up at me with guilty eyes, settling back down reluctantly. Sandy ignored the two in favor of sitting obediently at the heels of her elderly companion.

“Atta girl, Sandy. Such a good girl,” Mrs. Mitchell cooed, bending over to nuzzle the dog. 

Giving Sandy a final pat on the head, Mrs. Mitchell straightened and looked at me up and down as if she was trying to solve a puzzle. She paused, something akin to recognition flashing in the old woman’s clouded eyes.

“Do you need something, dear?”

I sighed. “A leash would be good.”

“Oh, I think I left it somewhere around here . . .”

Mrs. Mitchell shuffled over to the counter and started feeling around with her hands. After a moment, she returned with a light blue leash. I took it gratefully and clipped it onto Sandy’s collar.

“Okay, that’s everything,” I said, waving to the old woman with my free hand. “Bye, Mrs. Mitchell.”

“Have a nice day, dear.”

The door shut with a soft click.

The four of us took the stairs down to the main floor and strolled around for a bit, alternating between walking and jogging as we headed for the park.

As we were crossing a busy street, without warning, the dogs rushed forward, dragging me along behind them. I was struggling to keep them under control, which is why I didn’t notice the curb until my foot caught on it and my knees were introduced to the pavement.

To top it all off, Cody decided now would be a good time to leave me a “present” to clean up. I groaned, fishing out one of the plastic bags I had placed in my pocket the night before. This was going to be a long day.

  
  


~❤~

  
  


After the walking session was over, I returned the dogs and headed home, all but collapsing on my doorstep. I wouldn’t have minded going to sleep right then and there, but I wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

I unlocked the door and tiredly stumbled my way inside, heading over to the sink to refill my empty water bottle. I put together two ham sandwiches and stored them in the fridge for later, then set about making breakfast part two, humming quietly as I worked.

When everything was ready, I walked down the hallway and opened my bedroom door. Owen was quietly snoring into the mattress, his breath whistling as it came out of his nose. I reached out a hand, gently running it through his golden curls. 

“Owen, time to get up, honey.”

“Gurgh,” he mumbled back eloquently.

“C’mon, pal, you gotta get up,” I urged further, shaking his shoulder lightly.

“I don’ wanna.”

“Please?”

“Mm-mm.”

I knew we would be here all day at this rate, so I whipped out my secret weapon.

“I made blueberry waffles.”

It was as if an invisible switch had been flipped. Like a rocket, Owen launched himself out of bed, all traces of fatigue vanishing with a quick rub at his eyes. Waffles were a rare treat, and blueberry was his favorite kind.

I giggled at his enthusiasm as he led the way to the kitchen, bouncing in his excitement. I pulled the hot waffles from the toaster and quickly dropped them onto some plates, trying not to burn my fingers.

Owen snatched a plate from my hands and all but jumped into his seat. Rolling my eyes, I handed him the syrup. When his waffle was surely dead from its thorough drowning, he took a gigantic bite, rivers of sticky goodness dribbling down his chin. He looked up at me with twinkling eyes.

“Vfank oo, y/N!”

My heart melted at the sight.

I grinned back and said, “You’re welcome, Sticky. Now wipe your face.”

Owen frowned in indignation, but I could tell he wasn’t really mad. There was a brief moment before he gave an impish grin and smeared his mouth across his sleeve.

“Better?” he asked mockingly, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Not quite,” I said. “You missed a spot right  _ there _ !” I then proceeded to dump my entire glass of water over his head.

Owen gasped in shock, shoulders hunching at the sudden onslaught of cold water. 

“There, all clean,” I teased.

He recovered quickly, though, grabbing my plate and slamming my waffle into my face. I sat frozen, listening to Owen’s smug giggles and feeling the waffle slide slowly down my cheek. I peeled off the waffle and set it back on my plate, looking Owen straight in the eyes.

“Oh, you are gonna  _ get it _ ,” I promised darkly.

Owen squealed and ran for dear life, but I was too quick for him. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, tickling him with the fury of a thousand syrup-covered sisters. He shrieked and howled, laughing hysterically as he squirmed in my grip. 

When I deemed his punishment satisfactory, I let him go. He took the opportunity in his newfound freedom to stick out his tongue at me. Not to be outdone, I stuck out mine back at him. Then we both smiled and got to work cleaning up the water and syrup.

I made sure Owen was properly dressed in non-sticky clothes and finger-combed his curls until he looked presentable. As I was smoothing away the final cowlick, Owen looked up at me, pleading with his eyes. 

“Do I  _ have _ to go to school?” he asked, giving me his best puppy-dog eyes.

I gave him a no-nonsense look. “Of course you do.”

“ _ You _ don’t have to go to school,” he pointed out.

I let out a sad sigh. “No, no I don’t. You know why I can’t.”

Owen cast his eyes to the floor guiltily. The shift in mood was almost tangible, and I didn’t want Owen’s day to start out like this.

Thinking quickly, I plastered on a smile and said, “I’m too smart for school anyway. When you get to my level, I’ll let you stop going too.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” I lied. “But you’ll have to work really hard to catch up.”

“Okay.”

I could tell from the way Owen smiled that he knew I wasn’t being serious.

I checked the time: 8:11 a.m. We were going to be late! Darn those waffles! I ushered Owen out the door, and together we ran down the street to the bus stop. The bus was already there, the last few kids thumping up its steps.

Owen looked nervously at the bus. I did my best to reassure him.

“It’ll be okay,” I said gently. “Just remember what I told you. Don’t—”

“I know, I know. I won’t,” Owen replied.

“Good,” I murmured, smiling down at my brave little brother.

His small arms wrapped around my waist. I hugged him back, wishing with all my heart that I never had to let go. The bus driver honked the horn impatiently, and we broke the embrace.

“Bye, Owen!” I called out as he boarded the bus. “I love you!”

The bus started driving away. Owen sat, waving at me from the window and mouthing, “I love you too.”

Then the bus turned the corner and he was gone.

  
  


~End of Chapter 1~

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Knives and stabbing, blood, murder, death of children, minor body horror (demonic transformation?), nearly having panic attacks  
> Honestly, it isn't as bad as it seems. I swear.
> 
> Special thanks! ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡  
> Thank you, Author-chan, for writing the stories that inspired me to write, and for encouraging me and offering advice. Thank you, Dusk-senpai, for giving me the ideas for characters, plot, the setting, and other technical aspects of the story. TLC is as much your story as it is mine. Thank you, imouto-chan, for being my cheerleader and patiently rereading the whole chapter every time I changed something. Thanks to two of my littlest siblings for being the models for Owen’s character. Thanks to the author-chan of the fanfiction Cheshire Kitten, which influenced this story as well. And finally, thank you for reading my story! If you made it this far, that’s very surprising! (￣▽￣*)ゞ  
> With that said . . .
> 
> Continue?  
> ❤Yes ❤No


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